


What You Do in Those Deleted Scenes

by thegirlwhoknits



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Badwrong, Daddy!Kink, Deal With the Devil, I have no idea where this is going, M/M, and into some kind of creepy romance?, and now we're moving away from dub-con, dub-con, i'm not even trying to steer this trainwreck anymore, idek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwhoknits/pseuds/thegirlwhoknits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes between Agent McCall and Stiles (and some made up) from an extremely badwrong and porny perspective.  Stiles starts off making a deal with Rafael and winds up enjoying it a little more than he'd intended to.  There will be no redeeming moral qualities to this story!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You hollow out my hungry eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/952560) by [RemainNameless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemainNameless/pseuds/RemainNameless). 



> So, I'm placing the blame for my unhealthy obsession with this pairing squarely on RemainNameless's shoulders, but I'll be honest that I'm taking it in an even worse direction. Starts off dub-con in the first chapter but doesn't stay that way, because Stiles is horny and let's face it, Scott's dad is a really attractive douche. Come for the badwrong, stay for the porn!

“Stiles,” Rafael McCall smirked at him as he opened the door to his hotel room, looking utterly unsurprised to find the sheriff’s son perched on the edge of the bed. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“You know why the fuck I’m here, asshole,” Stiles snarled at him.  “You were supposed to leave when we found my dad. That was the _deal._ Not stick around and try to get him fired.”

Rafa’s smirk grew, remembering what Stiles’ end of that deal had consisted of.  “Hey, I did my best, kiddo. Orders from on high, you know how it goes.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, toeing off his shoes. “Yeah, you expect me to believe you’re not getting a kick of out this at all?”

“I didn’t say that,” he conceded. “There are a few redeeming things about this assignment.”  He shrugged off his jacket and moved to stand in front of Stiles, tilting his hips forward, level with Stiles’ mouth. The same way he’d stood in the hospital, giving Stiles the idea for their initial bargain.

The teen licked his lips, his attention riveted on the bulge in Rafael’s slacks, his mind sliding back to the memory of the older man’s thick cock in his mouth, fucking it mercilessly. 

 

He’d expected to be repulsed, maybe not by the act itself (the amount of male shirtlessness he’d been exposed to recently had caused him to rapidly revise his sexual identity) but by Rafa’s utter callousness about it.  He hadn’t even pretended to be considerate, forcing Stiles to his knees on the cold tile of an exam room, tugging painfully at his hair as he fucked his face.

Instead he’d found himself moaning around his best friend’s father’s dick, his own erection pressed painfully hard against his zipper.

“Good boy,” Rafa whispered. “God, such a cockslut, who knew you wanted it so bad?”

Stiles groaned louder, tears streaming down his face as he reached for the button on his jeans, desperate to relieve the pressure.  Rafael kicked his hand away with a polished shoe.

“Ah, ah,” he scolded. “Patience, kiddo.”

He sobbed in frustration, clutching at Rafa’s belt where it hung around his knees.  That seemed to turn the man on even more, and with a few more brutal thrusts, Scott’s dad came in a long, hot pulse down Stiles’ throat.  The teen pulled away, wiping at his eyes and mouth and struggling to his feet.  He turned to leave, but Rafael’s hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist as he reached for the doorknob.

“Stiles,” he said soothingly.  “C’mere.” He pulled his pants up with one hand as he reeled the teen in with the other, pulling him gently to his chest.

Exhausted and emotionally drained from the night’s events, Stiles let himself rest against the other man’s warmth, sobbing quietly as Rafael petted his hair and rubbed soothing circles against his back. “It’s OK, baby. I’m gonna take care of you.”  He reached down and palmed the still-hard length of Stiles’ cock through his jeans, causing the teen to buck against him involuntarily.

“Such a good boy,” he crooned as he popped the button open. “I think you deserve a reward for such _hard_ work.”

Stiles knew he was lost as Rafa’s hand slide inside his pants and wrapped around his cock—the first hand beside his own to touch him so intimately—jacking him slowly and murmuring soothing nonsense into his ear.

“So good, Stiles, god you’re so beautiful. Can’t believe I’m the first one to fuck your pretty mouth like that, you were _made_ for it.”

Stiles moaned helplessly in agreement, lost in the haze of pleasure and shame as Rafa licked a hot, wet stripe along the side of his neck.  The thought of Derek, or maybe even Scott, smelling Rafa’s scent all over him, knowing how he’d let himself be used for the safety of the pack (that was the excuse he was going with, OK) sent a sharp spike of arousal through him and he came hard, muffling a choked-off cry against Rafa’s dress shirt.

The older man drew his hand out of Stiles’ jeans and held it up in front of the teen’s mouth, who obligingly licked it clean, drawing each finger in one at a time, sucking off his own come.  “Such a good job, kiddo,” Rafa said approvingly. “Now c’mon, let’s see what we can do about this little problem of yours.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dragging his eyes up to meet Rafa’s gaze, Stiles tried to look challenging, but suspected he came off more like prey.  He was tired, too tired for this shit, hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep all week.  Every time he slipped into unconsciousness he ended up screaming himself awake, and more often than not alone.

He didn’t want to be alone.

Scott’s dad seemed to abruptly register the shadows around his eyes, the exhausted droop of his shoulders, and his eyes softened slightly with what almost looked like concern.

“Why are you really here, Stiles?” he asked, sitting on the bed next to him.  He looked for a moment like the man Stiles knew as a child, not the jaded, amoral man he’d become without family to ground him.

Stiles drew up his feet to sit cross-legged on the bed, resisting the urge to lean against Rafa’s shoulder. He buried his face in his hands instead.  “I don’t fucking _know_ ,” he gritted out.  “This is the last place I should be, you’re ruining my _life.”_

Scott’s dad stroked the back of Stiles’ neck lightly with his fingertips, and he _hated_ the way it made his pulse pick up against his will.  “I’m not trying to ruin your life, kiddo. You shouldn’t have to worry about any of this, it’s not your responsibility.  All I’ve seen since I came back is you running around trying to cover for everyone else, making everything your job, and it shouldn’t have to be. Who’s taking care of you?”

“You volunteering?” Stiles tried to snark, but even to his own ears it sounded more like plea.

In reponse, Rafa slid his fingers under the boy’s chin and tilted his head up. “Yes. Let me take care of you, Stiles.” His eyes, dark and glittering now, held Stiles’ as he leaned in. Stiles let his lids flutter closed, his mouth parting slightly even before the older man’s came down to meet it.  He was so tired, so cold, and Rafa was like a fire, hot and dangerous but tempting him with the promise of warmth and comfort.

He let Rafa’s big, capable hands guide him up the bed, settling his head against the pillows. The feel of the other man’s teeth scraping across his throat, fingers deftly unbuttoning his pants and tugging his t-shirt off, made it so easy to just let go, stop thinking and drift. To let himself believe, even though he knew it wasn’t true, that Rafa really could take care of everything, make everything simple again.

He whined as Rafa pulled away, the bed shifting as he stood. The older man gave a dark chuckle that made Stiles’ dick pulse against his stomach.  “I’ll be right back, baby, hold tight.”  Keeping his eyes closed, he heard Rafa rummaging through the nightstand, the sound of his zipper, the pop of the buttons on his dress shirt.  Finally the mattress sagged again under his weight, and when Rafa’s warm, gun-calloused hands returned to his skin he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Good boy,” Scott’s dad said warmly as Stiles arched up into his touch. “Look at me, Stiles.”

Reluctantly he opened his eyes to find Rafa kneeling above him, naked. Tanned skin stretched over his lean, muscled torso—not quite up to werewolf standards, but still impressive—and Stiles took a moment to eye the man’s thick, leaking cock hungrily before meeting his eyes.

Rafa grinned at him. “Since you came to me so nicely, I thought we’d do something special tonight. Have you ever been fucked, Stiles?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry, I know you guys probably hate me for this, but my brain fell asleep. I'll try and get the next part up before I head out to Sociopath Saturday tomorrow!


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles’ eyes widened and then squeezed shut as a hot hand wrapped around his dick. He shook his head wordlessly, caught between panic and sudden, overwhelming arousal.

“Good.” Rafa’s voice was dark and possessive, and with a bone-deep shudder Stiles let the arousal win. “You’re going to _remember_ this, kiddo. I’m going to make you feel so good.”

The delicious promise in his tone had Stiles writhing on the bed as Rafa moved over him, pinning him with his body as he sucked bruises and nipped bite marks down the side of Stiles’ neck, over his collarbone, licking a trail down to stop tantalizingly just above the boy’s aching cock.  “Breathe, Stiles,” he chuckled, breath ghosting the tip.

Stiles let out a loud groan, trying to push his hips up to meet the other man’s mouth, but Rafa held him down effortlessly with one hand.

“What did we learn about patience last time?” he chided. “I know you can be a good boy for me, Stiles.”

Just like that, Stiles felt all his tension melt away at once, leaving him feeling drunk on Rafa’s approval, hungry with the need to please him.  “God, Daddy, touch me, please.” _Where the hell did_ that _come from?_ a corner of his mind whispered, but he ignored it. 

Rafa seemed to like it, anyway; he licked a stripe up the teen’s leaking cock and then Stiles heard the _snick_ of a cap opening before one of his fingers, now slick with lube, started tracing circles around Stiles’ hole. It took all of his concentration not to push back against it. Instead he whined, “Oh god, please, want you inside me so bad, please.”

Rafa laughed, low and pleased. “You’re so beautiful when you beg, baby.  Love watching you like this, all broken down just for me.”

Stiles gave a sharp cry of pleasure as the finger slid in all the way; it felt a little weird, but at the same time better than he expected.  Rafa’s words made him so hot that his body offered no resistance at all. He insinuated his way into Stiles’ body the same way he had his mind, finding the most sensitive spot and stroking it until everything else fell away.

Completely overwhelmed by the feeling of someone else’s fingers inside his ass, someone else’s mouth and _oh god teeth_ on the inside of his thigh, he almost wept when Rafa suddenly backed off, leaving him empty.

“Do you trust me, Stiles?” Rafa’s voice asked silkily as he flipped open the cap on the lube again.

Stiles didn’t, not _at all,_ but he nodded his head frantically, not willing to do anything that might make him stop.

“Good boy,” Rafa rumbled. Stiles felt the thick, hot head of Rafa’s cock pressing against his entrance and tilted his hips up to meet it without thinking, greeting the intrusion with a long, drawn-out moan as he pressed deeper and deeper inside.  It felt unbelievably good, probably because he was so bonelessly relaxed.

Rafa started fucking him in slow, deep strokes.  “You’re so perfect, so good for me, Stiles.  Want to keep you like this, in my bed, spread open just for me.  You’re mine, baby, you know that right?”

Long past any rational response, Stiles gasped out, “God, yes, it feels so good.  I’ll be so good for you Daddy, please fuck me, please.”

“Mmm, like this, baby?” Scott’s dad began thrusting harder, holding onto Stiles’ legs to keep him from being pushed up the bed.  Stiles wanted to push back against him but couldn’t find any leverage.

“Yes, oh god yes!” he cried out, then flailed as one of Rafa’s hands left his thigh to circle around his cock.

“Come for me, kiddo, I want to feel you come for me.”

In just a few strokes Stiles obeyed. His orgasm surged through him like an electric shock, making him clench around Rafa’s dick and fist his hands tightly in the sheets. Rafa followed him almost immediately, thrusting a few more times before pulsing inside him with a loud grunt.  He stayed inside him for a few minutes, running his fingers through the pool of come on Stiles’ belly as the boy drifted down from his high.

When he finally pulled out, Stiles was hit with a rush of shame as he felt the other man’s come dribbling out of his ass. _Shit._ He hadn’t used a condom. That must have been what he was asking, if Stiles trusted him not using protection, and he’d basically said _yes._ What the hell was he doing? He was in so far over his head here. He'd just lost his virginity to his best friend's dad, for fuck's sake, what kind of messed up did that make him?

His breath started to come in short gasps as he felt panic close around him.  Just then Rafa came back with a wet washcloth and came to him immediately, sitting him up on the bed and wrapping his arms around him, his chest pressed to Stiles’ back. 

“Hey, hey. Breathe, kiddo, breathe. Count with me,” Scott’s dad started to breathe with him, counting their breaths like he had when Stiles was a kid, just after his mom’s death when he first started having panic attacks.  A few minutes later he was breathing normally again, and he sagged back against Rafa, any last bit of energy he’d possessed finally expended.  He let Rafa clean him up and manhandle him into bed, pulling the covers up around them.

“I should go home,” he tried protesting halfheartedly. “My dad…”

“Is working all night, he’ll never know you were gone. You shouldn’t have to be alone tonight, kiddo.”

He shouldn’t be with Scott’s dad, either, not like this, but thinking of the darkness and fear that waited for him in his own bedroom made the possessive weight of Rafa’s arms seem like a haven in comparison. His eyelids closed like lead weights and he finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added warning here for implied, but not acted upon, past pedophilia.

Stiles sat on the couch in his father’s office, trying to focus on the familiar skills of bantering and needling authority figures, and not the way the fingers of that authority figure had felt buried in his ass the night before.  Having Scott and his father there helped, but also made him terrified that he would slip up—or worse, start getting hard imagining the way Rafa’s stubble would feel scraping across his thighs.

He clutched a little harder at the pillow he was holding over his lap just in case, and focused instead on how annoyed he was at the whole situation. The interrogation was a complete farce; none of them had done anything wrong, Kira was alive, but Agent McCall was still treating them like they were the suspects.  And that was totally the only reason he was irritated.  The fact that Scott’s dad hadn’t so much as made eye contact with him since the hotel wasn’t making him feel insecure in the slightest.  He wasn’t a _kid,_ okay? He knew what they’d done didn’t mean anything.  And if Rafa was over it now, well, that was great, right? It’s not like the situation could’ve have been anything but a complete disaster. And Stiles had finally gotten to have sex, which at the very least meant he was a less tempting target for the next round of human sacrifices. Win-win.

Right. Who was he trying to fool again?

 

The school day dragged until Scott told him they needed to plan a heist to delete some pictures from Kira’s phone; then it flew by in a rush of scheming.  It was good to be strategizing something, anything. Much better than floundering around in the dark, feeling useless, which was all he seemed to be doing lately. Masterminding was what he was good at—he’d been doing it since he and Scott were getting into trouble on the playground.

He found himself liking Kira despite his reservations (very valid, historically justified reservations). It was cute how excited she seemed about the whole thing, and it was nice to have someone to impress who wasn’t jaded either by years of familiarity with his talents or exposure to life-and-death situations.

When he saw Rafa pull up, though, his stomach dropped straight through the floor of his Jeep.  How the hell was he going to distract him long enough for Scott to get away, without revealing to Scott the fact that he was _fucking his dad?_

 _Had fucked,_ he corrected himself. Past tense. One time. Never, ever happening again.

Yeah, even he wasn’t buying that one.

In the end he employed his second greatest talent: pure, unadulterated, spazzed-out flailing. Until Rafa snarked on his dad.  He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth before his brain could catch up.

“Hey, you know this attitude that you have towards my dad? You can dress it up to all the professional disapproval that you want, but I know the real reason you don’t like him.”

Rafa smirked, and _oh_ , there was the dark-eyed look he’d used in bed. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Stiles responded. “Because he knows something you don’t want him to know.”

Rafa scoffed.

“And guess what? I know it too.” His brain caught up with his mouth when he saw the stricken look on Rafa’s face, and he realized that it was true. He did know what Rafa wanted to hide, although he hoped to god his dad actually _didn’t._

This thing between them, whatever it was, wasn’t the game he’d assumed it was for Rafa.  And it wasn’t new.  A thousand little interactions over the years flitted through his mind in rapid succession: heated looks, lingering touches, subtle innuendo.  All just this side of inappropriate, all carefully hidden from anyone who might notice. A hidden dialogue, a dance between them—and not just on Rafa’s end—that had been going on as far back as he could remember.

Stiles felt a little sick to his stomach.  This wasn’t something he could blame all on Scott’s dad, though. He hadn’t been led on or manipulated. He’d made the first move—hell, he’d made the _second_ move. Rafa had never pushed him, now or then; he wouldn’t have even noticed the older man’s attraction if he hadn’t felt the same pull. What the hell was _wrong_ with him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where this is going anymore. Does Rafa have feelings (in his own twisted douchey way) for Stiles? Does Stiles return those feelings? How did it take only 4 chapters for this trainwreck to get completely away from me?  
> What do you guys think?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up at the end of Illuminated, where Stiles realizes he wrote the message on the blackboard telling Barrow to kill Kira. After this the story veers increasingly into AU territory. Also, Here There Be Fluff! Sorry.

Stiles let the chalk drop from his fingers, staring at the numbers—19, 53, 88—in his own handwriting. The message that told Barrow to kill Kira was _in his handwriting._ He managed not to have a panic attack right there in front of the chalkboard, but it was a near thing. His mind was racing, a hundred facts trying to slot themselves into place at once, and he just…couldn’t deal.  He backed out of the room slowly and practically ran to his Jeep, desperate to get out of there before teachers and other students started to arrive.

He meant to go home, he really did, but apparently his conscious mind was no longer in charge of these decisions, because fifteen minutes later he found himself outside Raf’s hotel room.  He was just uncertain enough of his welcome to knock instead of using the key card he’d cloned.

It was obvious Rafael hadn’t slept any more than Stiles had.  He was wearing a pair of soft-looking sweatpants and an open dress shirt that he’d clearly pulled on to maintain a semblance of decency.  He eyed Stiles warily.

“Stiles.”

“Raf,” he said, his tone only slightly mocking.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here again.” Raf lifted an eyebrow.

“I didn’t think I’d be here.” He laughed nervously. “About last night…”

Raf waved him in quickly, shutting the door behind them and leaning against it, arms folded. Stiles tried not to focus on the way his shirt gapped just above the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Look, I just…” Stiles ran a hand through his hair, the ragged edges of his control fraying. “I didn’t mean it as a threat or anything. You just hit a nerve.”

“Yeah,” the older man said with a heavy sigh. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I know it looks like I’m coming down awfully hard on your dad, but I have my reasons for it.  I’d ask you to trust me on that, but that’s probably a tall order coming from me.”

“I want to,” Stiles said softly, stepping into Raf’s space, close enough to feel his body heat. “I need… I don’t know what I need. Can I just stay here for a little while?  I want some time to think.”

“Of course,” he said. He reached up and cupped Stiles’ face, running a thumb over his cheekbone. “You look like you’ve had a long night. Have you eaten anything?”

Stiles shook his head numbly.  Raf tugged him in, cradling him to his chest and rubbing soothing circles over his back. “Oh baby. You really do need someone to look after you, don’t you.”

He wanted to produce a biting comeback, but instead the last of his panic start to ebb, replaced by a buzzing sort of calm.  Rafael turned him around and gently walked him over to the bed. He scooted up to sit against the headboard, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his face in them.

The bed dipped as Raf sat beside him, smoothing a hand through Stiles’ hair a few times before speaking. “You gonna be okay here for a little bit while I go get us some food?”

He made a muffled sound of agreement into his corduroys, and felt Raf press a kiss to his forehead. He listened without lifting his head as Raf grabbed his keys and shut the door quietly behind him.  The silence didn’t press as heavily on him here as it did in his own room.  It seemed like Rafael’s presence was everywhere, even when he wasn’t. He thought that should be more alarming than comforting, but it made him feel safe somehow. Which was ridiculous, because any one of the threats he’d faced in the last two years would cut through the FBI agent like a hot knife through butter.

Right now, even the illusion of protection was better than nothing.

He unfolded himself and slid off the bed, indulging in some half-hearted snooping while Raf was gone. There were no files laying around labelled “Top Secret FBI Plans,” and Rafael’s computer was probably still at the station, so he settled for poking through drawers and sniffing the older man’s cologne. He thought about stripping down and putting on one of Raf’s dress shirts, but decided that was too cliché even for him.

By the time Scott’s dad came back with two coffees and a bag of breakfast sandwiches, he’d managed to push his concerns to the back of his mind. Tomorrow was soon enough to confront the Pack with his whole “so I might be possessed” revelation.  Raf handed him a huge latte with an absurd amount of whipped cream and cocoa powder on top.  He dipped a finger in the cream and licked if off teasingly, and Rafael snorted.

“No one could ever accuse you of being subtle, kid,” he said fondly, stretching out next to him with his own coffee—black, predictably—and an egg-and-cheese biscuit. “You were always a better liar than Scott, but when you wanted something it was plain as day.”

Stiles felt his face grow hot as he remembered how often he’d watched Rafael with a childish sort of desire, wondering how it would feel to have those big hands touch him in decidedly non-paternal ways. “Did you know…” He trailed off, not entirely sure what he was trying to ask.

“Yeah, kiddo, I knew,” Rafael replied anyway, his voice a dark rumble. “I tried not to take advantage of it, but god knows you made it damn hard sometimes.”  He set his coffee down and wrapped his free arm around Stiles’ shoulders.

Stiles snuggled up against him shamelessly. As they sipped their coffee and tried to find something decent on daytime television, he felt a buzzing in his veins that had nothing to do with the caffeine. Raf finished his food and began stroking a hand down Stiles’ spine, running his fingertips along the strip of skin below his t-shirt, then repeating the motion. Stiles lay very still, letting the sensation build as his breath quickened.

“I remember when we used to watch movies together after Scott fell asleep,” he finally said softly. “They were always old black-and-white films, and I can’t remember what happened in a single one of them.  I just remember that feeling of being in another time, far away from everything that was happening in the real world.” He turned on his side, and Raf rolled over to face him.

“Back then I thought it was the movies, how much simpler they made everything seem, you know? But this feels kind of the same. So maybe it’s just…you.”  He rolled his eyes. “God that sounds stupid, way to be a sappy kid, Stiles—”

Rafael cut him off with a kiss, deep and claiming but softer than any of the others they’d shared. “I’m glad I can make you feel that way.  You’re mine, and I’ll always do everything in my power to keep you safe.” 

The remote clattered to the floor as he rolled them over, pressing his body against Stiles. 


End file.
